sidled up to 'im when the 'ouse-keeper was out of the
room and asked 'im whether he 'ad bought the chocolates.

"Yes," ses Alfred, taking one out of 'is pocket and eating it, "some of
'em."

George Hatchard coughed and fidgeted about. "When are you going to buy
the others?" he ses.

"As I want 'em," ses Alf. "They'd spoil if I got 'em all at once."

George Hatchard coughed agin. "I 'ope you haven't been going on with
that wicked plan you spoke to me about the other night," he ses.

"Certainly not," ses Alf, winking to 'imself; "not arter wot you said.
How could I?"

"That's right," ses the old man. "I'm sorry for this marriage for your
sake, Alf. O' course, I was going to leave you my little bit of 'ouse
property, but I suppose now it'll 'ave to be left to her. Well, well, I
s'pose it's best for a young man to make his own way in the world."

"I s'pose so," ses Alf.

"Mrs. Pearce was asking only yesterday when you was going back to sea
agin," ses his uncle, looking at 'im.

"Oh!" ses Alf.

"She's took a dislike to you, I think," ses the old man. "It's very
'ard, my fav'rite nephew, and the only one I've got. I forgot to tell
you the other day that her fust 'usband, Charlie Pearce, 'ad a kind of a
wart on 'is left ear. She's often spoke to me about it."

"In--deed!" ses Alf.

"Yes," ses his uncle, "_left_ ear, and a scar on his forehead where a
friend of his kicked 'im one day."

Alf nodded, and then he winked at 'im agin. George Hatchard didn't wink
back, but he patted 'im on the shoulder and said 'ow well he was filling
out, and 'ow he got more like 'is pore mother every day he lived.

[Illustration: How well he was filling out 102]

"I 'ad a dream last night," ses Alf. "I dreamt that a man I know named
Bill Flurry, but wot called 'imself another name in my dream, and didn't
know me then, came 'ere one evening when we was all sitting down at
supper, Joe Morgan and 'is missis being here, and said as 'ow Mrs.
Pearce's fust husband was alive and well."

"That's a very odd dream," ses his uncle; "but wot was Joe Morgan and
his missis in it for?"

"Witnesses," ses Alf.

George Hatchard fell over a footstool with surprise. "Go on," he ses,
rubbing his leg. "It's a queer thing, but I was going to ask the Morgans
'ere to spend the evening next Wednesday."

"Or was it Tuesday?" ses Alf, considering.

"I said Tuesday," ses his uncle, looking over Alf's head so that he
needn't see 'im wink agin. "Wot was